


Pretend

by purple_bookcover



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst and Porn, M/M, background ashelix, glenn fraldarius - Freeform, pretending they're someone else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24795463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: A knight in the Kingdom army believes he recognizes Felix. "Glenn? Is it really you?"But Felix is not Glenn. And the soldier is not Ashe. As much as they both want that.Maybe, for just one night, they can pretend.
Relationships: felix/random knight
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	Pretend

**Author's Note:**

> Kinkmeme prompt for "Felix + a random soldier who mistakes him for Glenn." 
> 
> I'm sorry for infusing my agenda into everything.

https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/476.html?thread=1577948#cmt1577948 

During the timeskip Felix meets a knight who at first glance mistakes him for Glenn. The knight was deeply in love with him, but his feelings were not reciprocated. It feels like a miracle to him to meet "Glenn" again and he asks/begs Felix to let him fuck him to finally find some closure.

Felix agrees. Why? A part of him wants to be Glenn, he's attracted to the knight, the war is harsh and he feels lonely/hopeless... please take your pick! It can be as dark as you like. 

In the midst of battle, everyone looked the same. 

Felix trudged to the front lines, encased in armor, shrouded in a helm. The land was slick, whether with mud or blood, he could not say. He’d lost count of how many people he’d cut down, soaking these grisly fields. Their screams echoed in his ears, an endless cacophony.

Today proved no different. Felix slaughtered, his sword slick with blood, his sabatons stepping over the detritus of countless bodies. Some grasped at his ankles; some screamed for mercy. Felix had none to deliver but what cold comfort they might take from dying rather than continuing on in anguish.

The cries eventually faded, but the smell never did, remaining lodged in Felix’s nose. He sat down wind of the campfires at night, letting the smoke choke him to mask those other scents. 

Felix pulled off his helm, let it drop to the ground with a clatter. Early on, he’d worn it constantly, afraid the other soldiers might recognize the duke’s son fighting among them. But that had quickly ceased to matter. If they knew him, they said nothing. He was just another soldier. He did his job; they did theirs. On the front lines, there was no rank. 

Felix set his gauntlets beside the helm before working at his breast plate. Slowly, all the dented metal came off. It was a little difficult without help, but not so complicated he couldn’t eventually manage it. 

He began with the helm, rubbing at the stains with a rag. It was getting harder and harder to discern the rust from the blood. Soon, Felix realized he wasn’t even trying. 

Someone sat down across from him at the fire. He could make out little more than a silhouette through the haze of smoke. 

“Is it you?”

Felix squinted. “What?” 

“I saw you today, but I wasn’t sure.” The soldier across the fire rose, starting toward Felix. With the flames at their back, they were little more than a dark outline as they stood over Felix. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Felix went cold. Perhaps someone had finally recognized him. It shouldn’t matter, but if this guy wanted to make an issue out of the duke’s son hanging around with the infantry, he certainly could. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Felix said.

“You even sound like him.” 

The soldier knelt and now Felix could see earnest brown eyes, a smattering of freckles among dark skin, neatly cropped black hair. Felix didn’t recognize him at all. 

“Glenn,” the man said. “Glenn, it really is you, isn’t it?”

Felix froze, blinking at the soldier. 

The man scooted nearer on his knees, coming so close he could set a hand on Felix’s thigh and peer up at him. That hand was tentative. Felix could tell the man was holding something back, even as he touched Felix.

“No,” the man said. 

Felix went cold. “No,” he agreed. 

“I-I’m sorry. You just look so much like him. Who are you?”

“Who are you?” 

“Arthur.”

Felix tossed his helm onto the pile where the rest of his armor lay. “Felix.”

Arthur mulled over Felix’s name. Then he gasped, holding his head in his hands. He climbed up to sit beside Felix on a log, still running his hands anxiously through his short hair.

“Oh goddess,” Arthur groaned. “Of course. You’re his brother.” 

“Yeah,” Felix said. “I am.”

“Goddess, I...”

“It’s fine,” Felix said. 

They sat in tense silence for a moment. Felix studied his hands rather than the man beside him. It’d been so long since he’d had to think about Glenn, since he’d had to relive the memories. So many of them were broken and incomplete, but maybe that could be remedied.

“How did you know him?” Felix said.

“We trained together,” Arthur said. 

“Were you on that mission?”

“Oh no,” Arthur said. “No, I wasn’t important enough for escorting royalty around. And neither of us were trained enough. They just wanted him to go for the optics of it all, you know? The Shield’s son seen escorting his present and future kings around, all decked out like a real knight.”

Felix grimaced. “Yeah, I get it.” His mouth tasted sour at the thought. Just optics. Just for show. A parade that had cost Glenn everything.

“Were you close?” Felix said. He looked over at Arthur, who was wringing his hands. The campfire highlighted the rosiness stealing into his cheeks. 

“We were … friends,” Arthur said.

“Friends.” 

The word lay heavy between them, burdened with more meaning than such a simple concept should have to carry. It was more than Felix wanted to consider, at least tonight. He gathered up his scraps of armor, standing over Arthur.

“I’m sorry I’m not who you were hoping for,” Felix said. 

“It’s OK. It was stupid of me.”

“Perhaps.”

Felix held the man’s gaze a moment longer. There was a dangerous amount of hope in those dark eyes. Felix turned away, starting through the dark for his tent.

#

They turned south. Defending Fraldarius wasn’t enough anymore, hadn’t been for years. They marched to join their forces with other battalions desperately clinging to bits of Kingdom territory. 

Dimitri was dead, or so Felix heard. No one could confirm if the stories of his execution were true or not, but most seemed to believe them. 

The practical effect was an army without a leader. Sometimes, they encountered Kingdom soldiers wandering around alone. Sometimes, towns and villages they presumed friendly turned on them. The lines that had once separated Kingdom from Alliance from Empire had gone blurry. The longer they marched, the less sense Felix had of where in all of Fodlan he even was – much less what he was doing. 

At least that latter was easily remedied. He was just a soldier now. When they told him to march, he marched. When they told him to kill, he killed.

The worst, though, was when they told him to stay.

The army had stopped days ago. They were held up by a bridge or a change in their enemy’s plans or neither or both. Felix could not say for sure. No matter the cause, the result was stagnation.

Cleaning armor and swords could only occupy so much time. Once they’d been polished and re-polished, Felix was left pacing the bleak landscape of military tents where he and the other soldiers waited restlessly. 

That’s how he came upon Arthur. He hadn’t approached Felix since that first unfortunate meeting and Felix had been happy to let the incident be forgotten. But now he paused, regarding Arthur sitting against a tree with a book. His shirt was unlaced and loose, affording a glimpse of the toned chest beneath. Arthur reached up, tucking dark hair behind his ear in a gesture that stabbed through Felix’s chest. 

Perhaps it was the days and days of boredom, but Felix approached, standing over Arthur. “What are you reading?”

Arthur startled, blinking up at Felix. A pretty flush crept into his cheeks, making his smattering of freckles seem to dance. “Oh, it’s you.”

Felix sat on the ground beside him. “Yeah.”

Arthur turned the book so Felix could see the cover. “It’s just a silly old book, but it’s the only one I own. Must have read it a dozen times now, but it’s better than nothing, right?” 

Felix examined the cover. A knight in full armor brandished his sword at a dragon spitting fire. Beyond, a princess flailed from within a tall tower. 

“Loog and the Maiden of Wind,” Felix said.

Arthur brightened. “Yes, exactly. How did you know?”

“Other than the title--” Arthur looked a little embarrassed and Felix softened his tone. “--My brother used to read it to me.” 

“I-I see,” Arthur said. He closed the book, turning it over in his hands. “You know, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories the other day. I...”

Felix shook his head. “They aren’t bad. I loved my brother. I looked up to him, wanted to be just like him. In some ways, it’s, uh … actually flattering.”

Felix didn’t realize he was staring at his hands until he heard Arthur laugh beside him. He dared a glance over. Arthur was smiling fondly at Felix, regarding him with his head slightly tilted. 

“You know, the more I get to know you, the more different you two seem,” Arthur said. 

Felix wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or offended. “To hear my father tell it, I became ‘odd’ after Glenn was gone.” 

Felix couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice, a bitterness Arthur apparently heard. “Do you think you’re odd?” 

“No,” Felix snapped. He forced himself to speak more calmly. “Not in the way my father means. Who wouldn’t be a little ‘odd’ after something like that?” 

“You seem pretty sensible to me,” Arthur said. “You’re always level-headed on the battlefield. You never panic, never act out of fear, even when you have every reason to. You never bring your frustrations back to the rest of the battalion afterward. If that’s what counts as ‘odd,’ we could use a good deal more odd soldiers around here.” 

Felix huffed a laugh, looking back down at the ground. A smile tugged stubbornly at his lips, but he bit it back. 

“You know,” Felix said, “you remind me of someone, too.”

Arthur’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “I do? Who?”

Felix saw a flash of green eyes, heard a laugh that obstinately withstood Felix’s most aggressive attempts to whither it.

“Sorry,” Arthur said, “bad memory?”

“No,” Felix said. It wasn’t the memory that was the problem. It wasn’t recalling how that smile tasted when Felix finally surrendered to it. It was knowing how far away it was. 

He shook himself, focusing on the man beside him. Even that stupid book Arthur was holding. The goddess really meant to taunt him.

“He was a friend,” Felix said. “Not sure where he is now, but he, uh, that book...”

Arthur smiled. “Guess it’s a popular one.”

Felix swallowed around a lump. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Do you want to borrow it? Goddess knows I’ve read it so many times I practically have it memorized anyway.”

Felix froze. His blood felt cold. He couldn’t help remembering the last time someone had offered him this very same book.

Sometimes they read together. Ashe was too excited, too impatient, to wait for Felix to reluctantly consume the story on his own. Felix didn’t even remember inviting Ashe to his room, but it soon became a regular thing.

Felix could have stopped it. He could have insisted for any number of reasons that it end. But he hadn’t. And when it became more than a book club, that shift wasn’t Ashe’s fault, or at least it wasn’t his doing.

It was Felix who’d made the first move, stupid and young and clumsy. It was Felix who’d kept inventing reasons for Ashe to return. And it was Felix who eventually ran.

Sure, they’d all run. They’d had little choice when the monastery fell. But Felix knew as well as anyone that Ashe didn’t really have anywhere to go. Felix could have brought him to Fraldarius, but that would have required making it more than a book club, more than a stupid mistake stupidly repeated. He’d have to use the words he’d avoided for their entire time as students, and faced with that choice Felix had fled.

Suddenly, being around Arthur seemed overwhelming.

“No, thank you,” Felix said. He rose, brushing himself off. “Sorry to bother you.”

#

The stillness became interminable. Felix paced around the camp most days. He could scarcely even train. Partners became harder to come by as Felix’s temper worsened and fewer took him up on the offer.

Once, desperate, he’d even tracked down Arthur. But he was an archer. Of course. Of course he was a fucking archer.

“You trained with my brother,” Felix insisted. “Surely you can use a sword.”

Arthur shrugged. “A little. I got the basics. Didn’t really take though and there’s always a need for more folks who can pull a longbow so they switched me. I don’t think I could give you much of a fight, in truth.”

Felix grumbled under his breath. Arthur must have caught some of it because he laughed, clapping Felix on the shoulder.

“Hey, I can’t help with the sword stuff,” Arthur said, “but a few of us have smuggled together some booze. Not good stuff, but you seem like you need it. Why don’t you join us tonight?”

Felix could think of a dozen reasons why not, but he hesitated before uttering any of them. Arthur watched him with hope, but not any particular expectation. It was a look that felt far too familiar.

Still, when Felix opened his mouth to refuse, he instead heard himself say, “Yeah. Sure.”

Arthur’s smile was bright, dazzling, lighting up his whole face, including that scattering of freckles. Later that evening, he led the way through the camp, Felix trailing behind as they wove between tents and campfires. The bleak soldiers barely noticed them passing by. Some cleaned weapons and armor already polished to a shine. Others picked at cold, bland rations. And some stared at nothing at all, their eyes empty and faces blank. 

Felix focused on Arthur instead of the soldiers. He’d seen too many faces devoid of any spark. He shouldn’t hope for another battle, another mindless grind claiming body after body, but it was starting to feel like sitting in camp was merely a slower death than the one they could find on the field. 

“Here,” Arthur said. He held back the flap of a large tent.

“This isn’t a soldier’s tent,” Felix said.

“It’s not,” Arthur said. 

“What’s that mean?”

“Someone high up likes us.” Arthur winked. “The officers are people too. They get bored. And lonely.” 

There was an implication in that Felix preferred not to ponder. He followed Arthur into the tent, which was lit with candles encased in actual iron lamps. The military cot was the same as any other soldier’s, but there was also a table, a chest, even a bit of a carpet laid on the cold ground. Compared to what the rest of the army was used to, it was a scene of outrageous luxury. 

Three soldiers lounged around the tent. It was easy enough to figure out which was the officer. She sat on the cot and her clothing didn’t have a single hole in it. 

There was another woman working the cork out of a bottle on the table. A man sat cross legged on the rug. 

“Hey,” Arthur said. “Brought a friend.” 

The two on the ground gave Felix curt hellos. They seemed more concerned with having to split the alcohol one extra way than with Felix himself. But the officer on the cot gave Felix a knowing look. He tensed, but she just smiled a little and hopped off the cot.

“Get it open already,” the officer said. She took the bottle herself and unsheathed a knife, popping the cork out. “Goddess knows we could all use a drink.” 

They poured deep red wine into every cup and container they could scrounge together, then everyone held up their portion for a toast.

“To...” The officer faltered. 

“To friends,” Arthur supplied.

“To not being fucking dead,” one of the soldiers amended. 

“To getting so drunk we don’t remember that we’re all sitting here waiting to die,” the officer said.

Felix clinked his cup against hers. She smirked at him, but the others soon completed the toast.

Felix tipped his cup back, gulping down the thick, syrupy wine. It was bitter as well as fruity. Felix downed it quickly rather than lingering on the taste. 

When he lowered his cup, the others were watching him. They still had mostly full cups. 

“Well,” the officer said, “you certainly brought a lively one, Arthur.” 

“I like how he thinks,” Arthur said. He shared a smile with Felix that made the wine feel like it was burning in Felix’s belly, then tossed back the rest of his own cup. 

They finished the first bottle quickly. Felix mostly focused on his drink, letting the conversation wash over him. Most of it didn’t interest him anyway. Friends and lovers back home. Felix had neither. _You did once._

“Shut up,” he muttered at himself. 

“Feeling OK?” Arthur looked at him with concern and Felix realized he’d grumbled out loud. 

Felix jolted to his feet. Multiple cups of wine flooded to his head, making him feel light and unstable. 

Arthur stood beside him, gripping his shoulder. “Hey, Felix...”

“We ran out.” Felix gestured at the table, which the others still sat around. 

“What?” Arthur said.

“The wine.”

“Oh!” Arthur blinked. “Oh, you’re right. Yeah. We’re out.”

“I will get more,” Felix said. He started off, fleeing the staring eyes all around him.

“Wait,” Arthur called. “You don’t even know where it is.”

Felix emerged into the cool night, now considerably darker than when he’d last glimpsed it. The change in temperature made him feel horrifically sober for a moment, then that haze settled back over his mind like an encroaching fog. 

Arthur appeared beside him. 

“I know where it is,” Felix said. 

“I didn’t think you were listening to most of that talk.”

Felix just shrugged and started to make his way around the officer’s tent. There should have been a trunk somewhere behind it with more booze. Arthur trailed after him. It made Felix take his steps more carefully, determined not to stumble, not to seem out of control. 

He found the chest and knelt before it, but his vision swirled and he paused before opening it. Arthur set a hand on Felix’s shoulder.

“Hey, you OK?” 

Felix turned his head, meaning to snap, to bite, to push away in all the usual ways. But Arthur was there, so close, too close, those freckles swimming in Felix’s vision. Something about the dark, the firelight, the booze, the ache in Felix’s chest – something about all of it combined made Arthur’s dark eyes seem flecked with green. 

“No,” Felix said. “I’m not.” 

Those soft eyes combed over Felix, searching, digging, constructing the illusion a bit at a time. “I know,” Arthur said. 

That hand on Felix’s shoulder glided to his neck, encouraging him forward so, so gently. There was fear in Arthur’s touch, bone-deep fear. Felix shifted his body to face Arthur, leaned into the touch, let their foreheads come to rest against each other. 

Felix could hear Arthur’s ragged breaths. He was sure his own were no more stable. Their lips were close enough that Felix could taste Arthur in the air they shared, cool and sweet from the wine. Too sweet. Felix craved it anyway. There was only one type of sweetness Felix could stomach and it whispered past Arthur’s lips. 

“I’m not who you want,” Felix said. “I’m not him. I never will be.”

“I know,” Arthur said. 

“I’m not like him,” Felix said. “I’m not … good.” 

“I don’t care.” 

Arthur drew closer, lips ghosting over Felix’s, then wandering close to his ear. “Let me pretend.”

That rasped request shivered through Felix, right to his cock. Felix had never “pretended” anything. He seemed utterly incapable of being anything other than himself, hard and sharp and “odd.” But maybe, just maybe, he could do it this once. Maybe he could let Arthur pretend for him. Maybe he could be who Arthur needed to see. Maybe he could let Arthur be what he needed in return. 

He clutched at Arthur’s shirt, dragging him to his mouth, kissing him ravenously. He was so sweet, too sweet, cool and delicious and syrupy. 

They tried to keep their mouths together even as they stood. Eventually, Arthur broke away. He said nothing as he took Felix’s wrist and rushed through the camp, nearly running. Felix did not fault his haste. Any moment, the illusion would break. Any moment, they’d have to pause and think and see each other rather than the ghosts they were inhabiting. 

The spell held all the way to Arthur’s tent. He nearly threw Felix inside, into blessed darkness lit by nothing but their imaginations and the faint glow of campfires squeezing between the gaps in the cloth. 

Felix spun, pulling Arthur to him when he stepped inside. Felix kissed at Arthur’s throat, sucking at the soft spaces where neck met shoulder. Arthur tilted his head back, tugging Felix against him, running his hands down to Felix’s ass. Arthur’s hands slipped around, rubbing over Felix’s crotch. Felix groaned against him, grinding into that hand coaxing him to hardness. 

Arthur shoved him back, frantically pulling his own shirt up over his head. Felix watched the lean muscle of his torso shift, painted in stark highlights by the threads of light struggling into the tent. His shoulders were corded, strong, especially his left arm. The body of an archer. 

Felix’s throat felt tight. His whole chest ached with need, with lust, with pain, each as sweet and sharp as the rest. He scrambled to follow, throwing his shirt aside, working at his trousers with trembling fingers. 

Arthur advanced once they were both naked, backing Felix up until his legs hit the cot. He sat, guided by Arthur, who knelt between Felix’s legs, stroking his cock idly while watching Felix’s face. He looked away long enough to lick up Felix’s shaft, a brief, teasing touch, but it was enough to make Felix burn deep in his gut. 

He grabbed Arthur by the hair, forcing his head back. 

“How do you want to do this?” Felix said. 

Even in the dark, Felix could see Arthur’s throat bob as he swallowed. “I always wanted to be inside him, to feel him like that, everywhere. Please.”

Felix’s cock twitched, answering for him. Arthur noticed and rose to go dig around for something, probably the oil they’d need. 

Felix waited on the cot, trembling in anticipation, a thread of fear shooting through his arousal. Ashe was always so careful, so deliberate, those clever fingers loosening Felix up like picking apart a lock until it eagerly relented it secrets. Arthur was not Ashe, just as Felix was not Glenn. But perhaps they could be close enough. Perhaps they could pretend.

“Get on the floor,” Arthur said when he returned. When Felix paused, confused, he said, “The cot won’t hold.”

Heat pooled in Felix’s belly as the implications of that shivered through him. He crawled to his knees before Arthur. Felix couldn’t resist running a hand up Arthur’s thigh, feeling Arthur’s cock in his hand, following with his mouth to get a taste. Felix angled Arthur’s cock into his mouth, taking languorous trips up and down the shaft. 

It wasn’t the same. It couldn’t possibly be the same. Felix sucked at the tip, used his tongue along the slit. But it wasn’t that different, either. 

He kept his eyes closed, used hand and mouth in tandem, mentally distorted the scratchy breaths above him. 

Arthur pushed him away. He came down to Felix’s level, guided him around onto hands and knees. Again, that spike of anxiety, like a bolt of lightning in a clear sky. Arthur’s fingers wandered around Felix’s ass. He was taking his time, exploring. Felix couldn’t stand it. The longer the teasing went on, the more he _needed_. He didn’t care whose fingers it was anymore, as long as something filled the ache inside him. 

The coolness of the oil was a pleasant contrast to the heat simmering in Felix’s body. Arthur rubbed around Felix’s hole before pushing just one finger inside. He could have done more. Felix could have taken more. Arthur was being cautious.

“Just do it,” Felix growled.

“Shut up,” Arthur said, but without heat. “Let me enjoy it.”

Felix did, but more because he couldn’t talk than because he didn’t want to. Arthur was feeling around inside him, exploring in deliberate little pumps of that finger. It shouldn’t have felt so good, but Felix’s head dropped as he chewed on his lip to hold back moans. 

One wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, but thankfully Arthur did not linger long before pushing a second and third finger in. A moan broke free, slipping through Felix’s clenched teeth. 

“Yeah,” Arthur said, “let me hear you.” His voice was so soft in the dark. It could have belonged to anyone.

“Earn it,” Felix huffed in reply. 

Arthur laughed, a gentle rather than mocking sound. “Of course.” 

The fingers pulled away. Felix felt the head of Arthur’s cock nudging at his entrance. There was a moment of tightness, of bright, sharp pain as some piece of Felix continued resisting, stubborn and scared. This was wrong, some part of him screamed. It was wrong. It wasn’t him. 

_I don’t care._

The pressure eased. Arthur pushed in, filling Felix inch by burning inch. Arthur kept squeezing in, stuffing Felix’s ass full. 

Felix’s arms trembled under him as he tried to keep himself upright. He shifted his hips, adjusting around the cock inside him. It seemed to press everywhere, a blissful pressure straining against every wall and barrier. 

Arthur was hesitating. Felix didn’t care to know why. He started to rock forward, then pushed back along Arthur’s length. He’d fuck himself if Arthur wouldn’t do the job. 

Felix’s incessant urging coaxed Arthur out of his lull. He clung to Felix’s slim hips, started to rock into him in time with Felix’s motions. 

Felix’s arms couldn’t hold him any longer. He folded forward, ass high while his forehead pressed against the ground. His moans slipped out into the dirt beneath him, muffled, hidden. Arthur’s voice was clear, though, shameless and shaky as he groaned and pushed into Felix. 

The timidity fell away. Arthur found a pace, pounding into Felix with increasingly frantic thrusts. His cock slammed into the raw, hungry places inside Felix, sating him in brief, taunting bursts. Just as quickly, he left Felix hollow again, left him quivering on the ground grinding his teeth and whining for more. 

A sharp spike of pain sparked against Felix’s ass. Arthur slapped him and a loud crack rang out. Felix arched up involuntarily, moaning as the strike ricocheted through him. 

Arthur rubbed his hand over the sore spot he’d made on Felix’s ass, still thrusting into Felix even as he soothed his skin. 

The next time Arthur struck, Felix nearly screamed from the sudden brightness of the pleasure. It complimented and contrasted the sting inside his ass, the consuming fullness blotting out all other thought. It didn’t matter whose cock it was, whose hand it was; it filled Felix just the same, pummeled the places crying out for relief inside him, sent lightning sparking through his body. 

Fingers dug into Felix’s hips, sure, strong fingers that held him in place and demanded he heed the pleasure boiling inside him. That cock fit so snugly in his ass, just like he remembered, just like he needed it to. The sensation of his body slotting perfectly around another’s loosened restraints he didn’t realize had been strangling him, sent a wave of nostalgia and loss and longing and grief washing through him. 

It wasn’t enough to contend with what was happening in his ass. The ache was like the sting of the slap – just another sensation swirled into an ecstatic stew. It all tasted the same right now; it all tasted like _want_. 

Felix heard himself whimpering pathetically, but he couldn’t stop it anymore. The cock in his ass was almost frantic. He was close. The dark turned bright behind Felix’s eyes, colored with flares of intense, delirious delight. He couldn’t hold on much longer. It had to spill over soon or he’d shatter. 

“Gle--” 

That clipped cry was all the warning Felix got before warmth filled his ass to the brim. Stuttering waves delivered more heat and wetness. Felix scrambled for his cock, but another hand got there first, pumping him the rest of the way until he cried out, mind going blank aside from the feel of bursting.

Felix stayed on the ground with his ass up as the tide came and went and came and went and finally receded with a cool hiss. Then, he was left depleted, utterly empty. The cock in his ass pulled out and sticky moisture ran down Felix’s crack to his leg. He didn’t care. He let his legs go slack, lying on his stomach on the ground, face hidden in his arms, body still pulsing.

For a moment, he got to stay like that, cocooned in his own darkness, trembling and used and spent. Thoughts prodded at the blissful emptiness. He held them at bay as long as he could before they pierced the warm haze protecting him. 

A hand rubbed up and down Felix’s back. He knew it wasn’t the right hand, knew his back wasn’t the right back, but if he kept his head hidden against his arms, he thought he might just be able to go on pretending.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!
> 
> Did you know there’s an actual Ashelix Week coming up??? Oct 17-24, 2020, will be Ashelix Week. Come create some good, good Ashelix.


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